


Stylish

by bliztoise



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Justice League (2017), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Multi, mentoring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-07-07 14:09:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15909822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bliztoise/pseuds/bliztoise
Summary: He takes a lover every time he comes. But does he really?





	1. Stylish

It was a mistake, the first time you noticed. 

Bruce Wayne was constantly in and out of your hotel. For functions, luncheons, anything to do with high society, and he was there. You really only see him at night, being the overnight concierge at the hotel. He always saunters up to you at the end of the night, around two or three AM, asking for keys to his penthouse. There’s usually a woman hanging off his arm, trying to sexily nibble his ear (it looks more like slobbering and chewing, if you’re honest) and “whispering” in his ear. The latter sounds more like high pitched whines. You don’t know how he stands it. He always drunkenly winks at you as he leaves, woman stumbling ahead of him, having the time of her life, it seems. 

But something always looks off to you. You think its Bruce himself. As an overnight concierge, you _know_  drunk people. You know how they talk, how they walk, how demanding they can be. Bruce is none of these things. Sure he’ll stumble a bit, but it seems…calculated to you. It’s nothing he gives away, of course, he’s a good actor, but there’s just something off about his performance. You’re hypothesis that it’s all an act isn’t proven true until you’re watching the cameras one night, doing the hourly check through, when you see it.

It’s around four AM and you’re bored, your novel sitting forgotten by the monitors as you scroll through the feeds. Of course, there are some teenagers up at this hour, getting ice and acting like idiots. You see the odd insomniac wandering the hall, trying to exhaust himself to sleep. It isn’t until you switch to the top floor that you snap out of your boredom. You hardly ever check that floor because there’s only a short hallway before you hit the door to the penthouse, and Wayne is hardly ever there. Tonight he is, though. You watch with rapt attention as he creeps out into the hallway, seemingly cautious, so he doesn’t wake up his date. He’s weirdly alert for someone that was apparently  _so_  hungover just two hours ago. He slips his shoes and jacket on in the hallway, then heads for the elevator.  _He can’t be drunk_ , you think. And you’re right. He isn’t. Like glass shattering, it dawns on you that this is all an act. He brings these girls up to his room, to make people think he’s some kind of perverted playboy, and maybe he sleeps with them, maybe he doesn’t, maybe-

Your mind is going a thousand miles an hour. You watch as Bruce takes the elevator to the basement, where the hotel staff’s equipment and machines are. Once there, he beelines towards the caterer’s door. Just before he walks out, he looks up at the camera, seemingly right at you, and _winks_. He slips out without a trace. Your jaw drops. 

You want to tell someone, anyone, what you’ve witnessed, but you get the feeling you can’t. Shouldn’t. 

It’s three weeks before you see him again. Surprisingly, you see him  _before_  the gala starts. He slips you a piece of paper, saying, “Please have two keys for my penthouse made up before midnight tonight. Thank you.”

You just nod and take the paper, figuring it’s just a tip. Unfolding it, you read, in neat, almost cursive-like handwriting, _Please call me at your earliest convenience. XXX-XXX-56709. - B.W._


	2. Mileage

You’re too scared to call him. You don’t know what he’s going to say, do. Is he going to yell at you? Get you fired? You know he has the power to do that. It’s been three days. You laugh at yourself. Isn’t that the dumb rule men give to people to avoid calling them?

You decide to call him today. It’s a Tuesday, surely he’ll be too busy to answer? You dial the number, almost sick to your stomach, and listen to it dial with short, uneven breaths. “Wayne Manor, Alfred Pennyworth speaking,” comes a distinctly  _different_  voice than you were expecting. You quickly hang up and toss your phone onto your couch, much to the disapproval of your cats. Little Bit and Tigger look at you nonplussed, the former laying her head back down, the latter crossing his paws and staring you down. 

“FIne! Fine. I’ll call back.” You’re exasperated with _yourself,_ that’s how bad it is. You call back, and nearly eat your own heart out as the same voice answers. You talk quickly, just to make sure you get it all out, starting with your name. “And, uh, Bruce Wayne gave me this number? Asked me to call?”

“Ah yes. Master Bruce would like to meet with you. How would you feel about today, around four PM, at the Old Gotham Cafe?” From his voice, the man sounds passive, like he doesn’t care, but you could swear you hear an amused undertone. 

“Uh. Sure, I guess? I’ll be there,” You say.  _What am I gonna do? Say no_? You think to yourself.

“Excellent. I shall inform Master Bruce.” With that, the man hangs up, leaving you sitting there with your phone to your ear. Fuck, fuck,  _fuck!_

* * *

A blur, speedwalking down the street, ten minutes late. You nearly trip over yourself as you check your phone again, Google Maps telling you that your destination is across the street. You look up and sure enough, there it is. You step a foot out onto the street and are immediately honked at. You jump, then laugh at yourself.  _Stupid bitch,_  you think. You actually look across the street this time, both ways, and once you deem the coast clear (or, at least, the cars are far enough away for you to run really quickly), you jog the short distance.

Once inside, you look around and spot Bruce Wayne sitting at a table by the window, staring right back at you. Your face catches on fire, it feels. You hold up a finger, to ask him to wait and he just waves you on, a hint of a smile on his face. You walk up to the barista and order a simple smoothie, adding a muffin and a danish to your order. You fish out your card, to pay, but the barista stops you. “Mr. Wayne said he’d be paying for whatever you got.”

“Fuck. Um, can I reject that? Like, can I just pay for what I have?” You ask. You’ll be damned if you let him pay for anything. It’s just buttering up for the inevitable fall.

“I’m sorry, but he already gave me the money, with the rest as a tip,” the barista says, a little annoyed. You get it, never look a gift horse in the mouth, but this horse gave you anxiety. You just sigh and nod, accepting your fate.

After getting your food, you cautiously approach the table, like a baby deer, ready to bolt at any moment. He just watches as you sit down, slowly take the wrapping off of your straw and shove it into your smoothie, and unwrap your danish first. You’re unnerved, so you decide to speak first. 

“I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything, just laces his fingers together.

“I’m sorry I watched you leave the hotel last weekend. I didn’t mean to psuedo-stalk you, I promise, I was just curious. I didn’t tell anyone, if that means anything? I just kept it to myself, I figured you wouldn’t people to know you don’t actually sleep with your dates, I-”

“How do you know I don’t sleep with them?” He cuts you off, eyes sharp. You gulp.

“W-well, your clothes didn’t look mussed, at all. And um, you were weirdly alert? One, for someone at four in the morning, and two, for someone who was supposed to be drunk just two hours earlier, you looked more put together than I do at any given time.”

He lets out a huff. Of laughter? You’re not sure. “Impressive,” He finally says. You mutter a ‘thank you’ before tearing off a piece of your food and eating it. You’re both silent for a couple of minutes, but then you can’t take it anymore.

“So what’s the deal? Am I in trouble? Am I gonna lose my job? Are you gonna kill me and frame it as a suicide or something with your money? Because if you are, can you at least give my cats a good home? One of my family members will take them in, I’m sure. J-”

He laughs. Genuinely laughs. It surprises you. “You really think so little of me? I’m not going to do anything to you. I was simply curious how you figured out my secret. Now that you know, are you going to do anything with the information? “

“I-I don’t think so? It’s not my secret to give away, and uh, I guess you’re not hurting anyone. I see your dates come down in the morning, and hey always seem fine, so.” You don’t know what he’s getting at. That couldn’t have been all. He must have wanted something.

He just looks at your for a couple of beats. “Have you ever thought about honing your skills of deduction?”

Bruce Wayne has a new pet project.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> supeson.tumblr.com!!


	3. Question

Surprisingly, you only see Bruce once a week, or once every two weeks. It doesn’t bother you; in fact, it’s a relief. You don’t think you could really handle it if you had to hang out with Bruce Wayne more than you absolutely have to. You meet him every Wednesday at his house-no _manor_ , you always have to remind yourself. You do little exercises to help sharpen your skills. What skills? You’re not entirely sure. You seem to play weird versions of Where’s Waldo, where instead of looking for Waldo, you look for small details the average person would miss.

Alfred calls you (you find that so weird, having regular conversations with a fucking  _butler_ ) weekly to set up your Wednesday meeting, but you decline, as you tell him you have some stuff to do. In reality, you just kind of want to stay home. Have an in day. That’s why you’re surprised to hear a knock on your door. You put down the game you were playing and answer the door, figuring it’s a neighbor with a mail mix up or something. You don’t expect to see Bruce Wayne standing in your doorway in a black pea coat, his no doubt designer shoes shining somewhat obnoxiously. 

You try to hide yourself behind your door, but it’s too late. He’s seen you in your too big sledding penguins pajama pants and gray hoodie. “Hey,” You mutter weakly.

“Needed a day in?” He asks, voice monotone. You inwardly flinch.  _You’ve disappointed him._

“Y-yea. It’s my day off, so I thought maybe I’d just…stay…in…” You trail off, then realize you’re still standing in the door. You open the door wider and wave him in. “I don’t want my cats getting out.”

He huffs a laugh, which you can pick up on now, you notice.  _Guess those lessons or whatever are paying off,_  you think. You gesture to your couch and invite him to sit. He does, jacket and gloves still on. It’s a little surreal to have such a high profile person in your shitty little Gotham apartment.

“Can I like, get you something? I have water and juice. I think I also have some wine from the grocery store, if you want to _drink_  drink-”

“Some water will be fine. Do you know you have a rip in those?” He points to your pajamas. You nod.

“Water it is,” You say, grabbing a cup from your drying rack. “Also yes, but these are my favorite pair and also I’m poor.”

You sit down across from him and set the water down. He immediately takes a sip, to be polite, you suppose. You fidget for a minute before you finally blurt out, “So what are you doing here?”

“I thought I would come and see why you couldn’t make it to the manor today. I see you’ve been very busy, though.” He nods his head towards you gaming console, sitting forgotten on the coffee table. 

You’re sheepish. “Oh, well, I just, uh, needed a day, y’know? I feel like I’m always working, and not that I don’t enjoy what we do, whatever it is, I just-” You stop as you hear a crinkle coming from behind you. You hold up a finger. “One second.”

You quietly raise up and quickly bend over the arm of the couch. Beneath you, staring up with wide, green eyes, is Little Bit, a piece of plastic wrapping hanging from her mouth. You quickly snatch it away from her. “Not on my watch, baby. You  _know_  better than that.”

You sit back down, shoving the plastic under you thigh, to throw away later. You look at Bruce, suddenly a little embarrassed that he had seen that. You’re about to apologize when he speaks. “You remind me of my son, Damian. He’s always chasing around his dog, Titus, it seems.”

You pick at your fingernails, deciding to just. “Why are you here? Doing this with me, I mean. We’ve been meeting every week for the past two months, I’m sure you have better things to do, better people to see. I’m just an overnight concierge who saw you leave a one night stand. I’m nobody.”

He pauses at your quiet outburst. Setting his water down, he stands up. You flinch as he does, thinking you’ve finally gone and done it. You’ve angered him. You grab one of his gloves. “Wait! I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I was mean. I just, I don’t get it? Don’t leave mad.”

You sound like a child. A petulant child, and you hate it. Bruce just looks down at you, a hint of a smile on his face. He says your name softly. “It’s fine. I chose you for a reason. You notice things. Things no one else has noticed in the past. I’ve been taking people up to that suite for fifteen years, and no one’s said a thing. You’re the first one to look and see past the persona I’ve been putting out. You intrigue me. I chose you. I think you need to give yourself more credit. Don’t doubt my feelings for you.”

He readjusts his jacket and gloves, making sure everything is actually on. He takes out a business card and writes across the back. “This is my actual number, so you don’t have to talk to Alfred anymore. He says he can hear your anxiety every time he picks up.”

With that, Bruce leaves, making sure to shut your door. You sit on your couch, flabbergasted that a man, **the**  man, some might say, said he liked you. Or rather, was  _interested_ in you. You’re about to collapse, it feels like, until you hear a crinkle of plastic again. “ _Little Bit!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also all the titles n stuff are from the LOONA song stylish!! PLEASE GIVE THESE GOOD GIRLS A LISTEN I LOVE THEM...........


	4. Change

Your head feels like it’s been stuffed full. Of what? You don’t know, but you know it’s too much and you’re about to die. You’ve just downed another shot of liquid Vick’s and are ready to put your pizza rolls in the oven when your doorbell rings. You curse and shut the stove again. You wipe your hands on your hoodie and open the door. Immediately staring back at you is a boy of about thirteen or fourteen, with tanned skin and green eyes. In your tired, medicine-addled state you mistake him for a Boy Scout.

“Listen, kid, it’s a little late in the year to be selling popcorn. Come back in about six months or so,” You tell him, and go to shut the door.

He shoves his foot in the door, stopping you. “I am no Boy Scout,” He sneers. He pushes his way into your apartment, and with the sleeping agent in the NyQuil starting to take effect, you’re powerless to stop him. He barges into your apartment, muttering to himself and looking over every inch of it. You just stare at him, your breath coming out in puffs due to the congestion. 

“Is there anything I can like, help you with?” You ask. Anything to get him out of your hair, really. It’s nine o’clock at night, and you’re ready to hit the pillow. 

“Do you know any foreign languages? Are you a former assassin? Are you after my father’s money? Power? What is it? What is it about you that makes him so interested in you. You’re nothing like his previous flings,” Damian says, arms crossed. 

“What? Kid, I probably don’t even  _know_ you father,” You start. He cuts you off as he sees your cat dishes. He inspects them, and nods his head.

“I approve of the food you are feeding them. They are well taken care of.” You think that’s the end of it, because he starts for the door. “My name is Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne is my father. And I don’t know what game you’re playing at, but I  _will_  find out, and it won’t be pretty for you when I do,” He promises you at the threshold.

You gape at the door as he leaves, the door swinging firmly shut behind him. You shake your head and try to chalk it up to a fever dream or something. You forgo your dinner and crash on your couch. 

You hear another knock about six hours later. You jolt awake and groan, your eyes feeling gritty, your throat dry.  _I swear to god if it’s Mr. Mulaney again…_ You think to yourself. You fight your way back to full consciousness, then heave yourself up off of the couch. You grumble to yourself as you trudge to the door. You throw it open with a sigh. “Listen, I’m just about dead so if you could please come back tomorrow-”

You cut yourself off as you take in the sight of Bruce Wayne standing in your door,  _again_. He’s got on a deep green coat and some brown loafers to match, really bringing out the blue of his eyes. What catches your attention the most though, is the bag full of Chinese food hanging from his left hand. “I don’t think that’s any way to treat someone trying to make you feel better,” He says with a trace of a smirk on his face. 

He walks in, uninvited (but does Bruce Wayne really need an invitation to show up somewhere?), and set the bags down your counter. You trail after him like a puppy, staring at the food in wonder. 

“How did you know I was at home tonight?” You ask, eyeing the container of egg drop soup with a hungry glint. 

“There was a small gala at the hotel tonight and you weren’t working. I know you usually work Thursday nights, so I asked around. Coworkers said you’ve been out for the past day and a half with a head cold. Thought I’d stop by with something to eat, help you get your strength back,” He explains, setting containers down left and right.

You look up at him with sleep-dusted eyes. “You’re so good to me,” You murmur. “I’m not even dating you, like that kid thought I was, or something.”

You grab a spoon and the soup, sitting legs crossed on your couch. Bruce is alert now, other food forgotten. “What kid?”

You wave the spoon in front of your face. “Some kid in some expensive designer clothes. Said he was your son? He looked all over my apartment, like he was looking for a bomb or something, then said he’d find out who I really was or something? I dunno I was all hopped up on NyQuil, so it might’ve been a fever dream or something.”

“It wasn’t,” Bruce grits out, holding the bridge of his nose. “That was my actual son, Damian. He’s always doing this, interrogating the people I see. I’m sorry he came here and did that to you. Are you alright?”

“Yea, yea, I’m fine. It’s not like he came through and trashed the place. He was just a little worried. Which  get, I guess. We’re not dating, but we do hang out a lot. Or maybe we don’t? I don’t know much about your personal life, if I’m honest,” You say earnestly, mixing the little crackers and chives into the soup.

Bruce smiles, as if at his own private joke. “Well, you’re my longest running person, that’s for sure. And who’s to say I’m not interested in you romantically?” 

You swear you’re hearing things with your clogged up sinuses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i LOVE MY SON DAMIAN WAYNE!!!!!!


	5. Nervous Heart

“I have to go,” Bruce tells you as he locks his phone again.

You look up, eyes a bit sad. You’re trying to hide it better these days, and you think you’re succeeding, getting more adept at hiding your feelings, Of course, you don’t know that you’re somewhat-friends with the World’s Greatest Detective. You give a straight-lipped look and shrug. “That’s the life, I guess.”

He nods and turns to head out. You don’t mention that he’s only been here for ten minutes, that you had other things to talk about, that you wanted to show him. You always feel a bit childish around him, like you’re not enough for billionaire (fake) playboy Bruce Wayne, so you try to rein in your emotions. 

The door shuts behind him with a heavy _click_ , and you’re  _alone_. Again. It’s the one thing you hate about living in Gotham. You’re always alone, at home, at work, even on the goddamn street. It’s lonely living in Gotham. You’re jut about to resign yourself to a moody night in when you spot them. On your coffee table, are a pair of maroon leather gloves, with the initials B.W. imprinted on them in a fancy font.  _Fuck_ , you think,  _a new worry to think constantly obsess about._

* * *

It’s been a week and a half and you haven’t heard anything from him. You’d texted him, of course, telling him you had his gloves. No response. Is he avoiding you? For what? You really want the damn things out of your house. Every time you lay eyes on them they seem to mock you. You’re sitting at home, staring at them.  _Fuck it_. You get up and grab the gloves, stuffing them into your hoodie pocket. You grab your keys and wallet and head out the door. 

Two hours, three bus transfers, and one Uber later, you’re walking up the massive driveway to Wayne Manor. Your driver had refused to take you to the door, saying he’d fulfilled his part: getting you to the address. You already had a nasty one star review brewing for him. The door isn’t comically massive, but it’s still pretty big, a solid, dark wood, about seven or eight feet tall. You knock a couple of times and stand, looking away from the door. You don’t want to be immediately staring at whoever answered. It takes a couple of minutes, but an older gentleman with slicked back hair answers the door. “May I help you?” He asks, tone bored. _The accent really adds another layer to the condescension,_ you think. 

“Yea! Hi,” You give him your name and start fumbling around in your pocket. “So, um, Bruce left these at my house? I just wanted to return them. I tried to text him but he never responded so I just thought I’d return them? They don’t go with my whole look at home,” You joke. You finally pull the gloves from your pocket and hold them out to the butler. 

He takes them, then opens the door wider. “Please, do come in. I’m sure Master Wayne will want to thank you.”

Your eyes widen a little. “No! I’m good! Just came to return those, so!” You pat the gloves laying in his hands. “I’m just gonna walk down the driveway and call another Uber. Have a nice night!” 

You robotically turn around and start walking. You can feel Alfred’s eyes on you as you start walking. Luck just isn’t on your side tonight, it seems. Halfway down the driveway, the sky seems to open up. It starts as a light drizzle, which you know you can keep going in, no big deal. But with every step you take, it rains harder. You finally stop and sigh heavily. You turn around, ready to grovel a little, when you see Alfred in the doorway, towel in hand. You let out a guttural yell as you trudge back up the driveway. 

“Coming in?” He asks, the towel being handed to you. You give him an annoyed look and take the towel, pressing it to your face first. You let out a small scream as the butler walks away. “You may sit in the lounge while I fetch Master Bruce. Please leave your wet clothes in the bathroom just ahead. I’ll make sure they are dried before you leave.”

You grumble as you walk into the bathroom.  _Joke’s on you, only my hoodie got wet you old fucker._ You take off the soaking wet top layer, empty your pockets into you your pajama pants’ pocket,  and straighten out the tank top you have on underneath. You dry your feet on the bath carpet in front of the sink and thank god you were wearing flip flops. You feel bad just leaving the towel and hoodie just sitting on the counter, so you try folding them. You wring out the hoodie a little and fold the still wet article as best as you can before laying it on top of the towel. 

Wandering out of the bathroom, you go back to the lounge that Alfred mentioned. You have no desire to snoop through Bruce’s things; that’s his business. You are, at least in your own view, a temporary interloper into his world. It would be best if you leave as many stones unturned as possible, so you won’t be as upset when he finally breaks it off with you. You sit down and lean your head against the back of the plush couch, eyes closing. The whole ordeal has been…exhausting. The fireplace is pulling you in, calling you.

Just as you think you’re about to fall asleep, a man in his mid-twenties walks in, loudly calling for Alfred. “Hey! Where is-”

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, seeing you jolt up from the couch. His mind goes straight into overdrive, trying to figure out who you are, how you got in, ho-

“Jesus!” You exclaim, rubbing your calf. You had hit it on the coffee table when the man had walked in. You turn around and take a minute to consider him. Mildly attractive, at least, with black hair down to his neck and blue eyes. “You’re one of the sons,” You deduce.

“Perceptive,” He says. He walks over and holds out a hand. “Dick Grayson, the original orphan kid.”

You snort, give him your name, and shake his hand. “Current insignificant blip on your dad’s radar. You’re much more amiable than Damian was.”

“Well, at least you survived meeting him. That’s more than I can say for my dad’s other partners,” Dick says. He likes you, he decides. You’re pretty funny.

“Partner? Hah! I’m a mistake. A fluke, on Bruce’s part. I’m hoping someday soon he realizes this and forgets about me. If I’m honest, this is all a little, well, mind-boggling. I-” You stop yourself as you realize what’s coming out of your mouth. You look at his son with wide eyes. “Fuck. I’m sorry. Don’t tell your dad I said that. It’s fine. This is fine.”

Dick eyes you carefully, a slight pitying look on his face. “Look-”

“Thank you for keeping them company, Dick,” Bruce says from the top of the stairs, taking each step with a certain speed and candor you’re positive is just a little practice. “I’ll take it from here.”

Dick flashes you a reassuring smile and walks off, nodding to his father as he starts the trek upstairs himself. Bruce comes to stand in front of you, hands in the pockets of his black slacks. He’s wearing a black turtleneck as well. “What brings you to the Manor?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see his gloves sitting on the table. “Fucking butler,” You mutter, swiping them from the floor. You hold them out to him. “Remember when you were at my place a couple of weeks ago? Well, you kinda left these there, and I tried to text you, but you didn’t answer, so I thought maybe I could just drop them off? And be on my way, but then it started raining, and Alfred, that was Alfred, right? Was standing there with a towel and-” 

He gently takes the gloves from you and smiles gently. “Thank you for bringing these back. Truthfully, they’re my second favorite pair. And I’m sorry I never texted you back. I’ve been a little busy lately.”

You finally look up and take him in. He’s got a cut on his cheek, which looks pretty deep, but is being held together by butterfly bandages. “What happened?” 

“I tripped,” He say dismissively. You sit down at one end of the couch and Bruce sits at the other, crossing his legs. 

“You’re lying.”

He smiles again. “Very good. How could you tell?”

“Your pupils dilated and you blinked immediately afterwards. That’s kind of your tell. To the outside observer it would seem innocuous, but after watching you for a while, I can tell now.” You feel more comfortable, stable, talking like this. It’s easier to state facts and be analytical around Bruce. Talking about literally anything else makes you feel weak. 

“Dick and I were sparring and he got a little too rough. It’s nothing some peroxide and Alfred’s careful hands weren’t able to patch up.” He’s still lying, you can sense it, but you say nothing. You don’t want to ruin this moment. He sighs, then pats his thighs. “Here, let me drive you home. It’s just getting worse, and I don’t want you spending thirty dollars for some jerk to drive you.”

You want to argue, to refuse, but you can’t. You just nod and follow him to his garage. Your hoodie is sitting folded up, all dry, next to one of his cars, and he motions for you to put it on. You empty your pockets onto the hood and slip it on. You miss the way Bruce’s eyes travel to where your tank top rides up and exposes some skin. Once everything is on, and stuff is back in it’s place, you hop into the passenger’s seat of a slim black sports car. 

The ride back is silent. It isn’t until he pulls up to your building and you’re about to get out that he says something, laying a hand on your arm. “Listen. I don’t know why you think so lowly of yourself, but you’re not as insignificant to me as you think. I value and appreciate you as a person. I haven’t been very…direct with my approach because, to be honest, I don’t know how to handle you. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever tried to pursue. You’re not rich, you’re not society. Hell, you’re not even in my normal wheelhouse.” You flinch at his words, but he barrels through. “I don’t know how to handle you, but I’d like to try. You don’t have to answer right now, or even next week. But, when you’re ready, if you think you’re ready, give me a call.” 

He releases you and you scramble out of the car as if you’ve been burned.  _Holy fucking shit_. You stand on the sidewalk, dazed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would say i'm being productive updating twice in one day but uh....it's bc i forgot to post chapter four here when i did on my tumblr...........lmao


	6. Cough Cough

It’s three PM on a Tuesday when you finally call him. It’s been two weeks since you were at the Mansion, embarrassing yourself. Two weeks since Bruce Wayne told you he wanted to date you. You’ve been avoiding all contact with him, not that there’s been much. He sent you one text, a week ago, asking if you’d like to come back to the Mansion, Alfred was asking after you. You ignored it.

It’s three PM on a Tuesday when Bruce Wayne’s phone rings in the middle of a W.E. board meeting. He lazily checks his phone and his eyes widen a fraction of a second when he sees your name pop up. He excuses himself with a dazzling smile. Half of the room just waves him off, expecting this from “Brucie”, the other half look frustrated with their boss just up and leaving an important meeting. 

The glass door shuts behind him softly as he hits accept. “Yes?”

“Okay, so I know I’ve been basically ghosting you and I’m sorry but I didn’t know how to respond and you know how I get. Anyway I wanted to say yes. Yes I wanna go out with you. I mean, when am I gonna get a chance like this again, right? But nothing fancy, I’m not going to a charity event or something I don’t like to think about all the attention I would get and I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of th-” You’re rambling, and you know it, but you’re just so  _nervous_ , you can’t stop.

“That’s alright.” Soothingly. Saving you from yourself. “We can just go out for dinner. Somewhere  _you_  are comfortable.”

You take a deep breath, grateful. “Okay.” You exhale. “Okay, we can do that. How about…Thursday night? I know that’s kind of soon, but I don’t wanna lose my nerve or something, but if you have plans-”

“Thursday it is. Do you want me to pick you up at your apartment?” Patience is key, he knows. He finds it cute how flustered you’re getting. You answer yes and then hang up. He smiles to himself, then turns around and enters the conference room once again. 

* * *

It’s eight PM on a Thursday when he pulls up to your building, parking right along the curb. He’s dressed down, in a sense, knowing it would put you at ease. The ride up in the elevator is quiet. He has a good feeling about, truthfully. The elevator dings and he steps out. Not a hair out of place, he knocks on your door.

It’s eight PM on a Thursday, and you’re losing your mind. You couldn’t believe yourself, just casually calling up Bruce Wayne and asking him on a  _date_? _What the fuck!_  You remember that you’d told him it was going to be casual, but what does casual mean to a billionaire? You decide to just throw on some jeans and a t-shirt, a heavy jacket thrown over top of it all. You shove your phone and keys into your pockets and take a couple of moments. You hear a knock on your door and your heart rate spikes again.

Wiping your palms on your pants beforehand, you open the door. Bruce is dressed in a deep green sweater and some black slacks, brown leather shoes shining a little obnoxiously, in your opinion. “Ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be, I guess. Let’s get going before I change my mind and spend the night with my cats.” You lock your door behind you and follow him down. You still look uncomfortable as you get into his car and give him the address of the place you’ve chosen for the evening. 

It’s a tense silence during the ride there. At least, it is on your end. “You know, you’re not going to have any fun if you don’t loosen up a little. I’m not going to kick you out if you say something weird, I’m not going to brutally murder you after dinner. I just want to get to know you and eat some good food. This is a normal date, albeit with a slightly abnormal partner. Please, just be yourself.”

You sigh dramatically. “ _Fine_. I hate that you’re right.”

He smiles as you hesitantly start talking, just funny little anecdotes from your job or whatever. It’s step in the right direction. There’s a slight hiccup at the shitty little Italian restaurant you direct him to, as a waiter recognizes him and tries to pester him when you go to the bathroom. It takes a heavy tip to get him to go away before you come back. 

The evening as a whole, is nice. You do most of the talking (because really, who doesn’t know Bruce Wayne’s life story?), and he actually seems interested. You tell him light, fluffy bits, of course. There’s no need to get too deep on the first date. You wander out of the restaurant afterwards and walk around a little. He offers you his arm, and surprising yourself, you take it. The two of you walk the streets, until you come upon a little ice cream shop. “Oh  _fuck_  yea, can we go in?” You ask eagerly.

“Are you sure? It’s forty-five degrees outside.”

“Ice cream is an all year treat, I’ll have you know. It doesn’t matter how cold it is, I will always want ice cream,” You say seriously. He huffs a laugh and directs you towards the parlor. You both order something and sit down. You convince him to shove some money in the tip jar. “C’mon, imagine how much it’ll make their night, getting a crazy ass tip from  _Bruce Wayne_!”

He fishes out a couple of hundreds from his wallet and rolls them up, sliding out of his chair to put them into the jar. The employees behind the counter thank him profusely, but he just waves them off with a practiced smile. You eat your dessert in silence, just enjoying each other’s company. The ride home is the same way; quiet, but content. 

He insists on walking you up to your door. Once there, he goes to turn around, bidding you a good night, but you lay a hand on his arm. You take a deep breath before speaking in a rush. “I had a really good time tonight and I’m sorry I was a little bit of a drag for the first bit and I hope we can do this again thank you for a really good night Bruce.”

He smiles again, and it feels genuine. “No problem. The pleasure was all mine.”

He goes to leave, back to the elevator, but you stop him with a high-pitched “Wait!” He turns back to you, an eyebrow raised. You unlock your door, looking at him nervously, then really quickly grab his face, making him lean down slightly. You look him in the eye for a second, then press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“Okay good night drive home safe tell Alfred I said hello!” You say as you open your door and rush in, slamming it behind you. He stares at the door for a fraction of a second, then starts for the elevator, a feeling of satisfaction coming over him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's up my name is liz and i never learned how to update properly


	7. Carol

You’ve fallen into a comfortable…thing with Bruce. In the back of your mind you’re always ready to bolt at a moment’s notice, years of shitty relationships haunting you. But outwardly? You’re fine, for the most part. You’ve slowly mellowed out, you’re not as afraid to show yourself to him.

“You should go for the blonde over there. She looks like she’s eager for a good nap,” You tell him, leaning over the concierge’s desk. It’s about a week away from Christmas and Bruce is at the hotel for a gala for the homeless or something, you don’t know. You weren’t really paying attention when he told you. The two of you are picking out his “prey” for the night.

“Lisa Highland? She apparently just broke up with her boyfriend…maybe.” He’s leaning on your desk, looking out into the crowd with you. He looks stunning in a black suit and red dress shirt, a deep green tie making sure people know it’s a Christmas outfit.

“Damn, I just am  _not_  hitting the mark tonight. Oh well,” You sigh. You sit back down in your seat with a huff. You chew the inside of your cheek for a second before exhaling loudly. “Hey. What are you doing next Wednesday? I was thinking maybe you could come over? If you want. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to. But I uh, got you something. You don’t have to-”

He can already tell you’re losing yourself a bit. “I can come over. I wouldn’t mind at all.”

* * *

It’s Christmas Day, or rather, evening, and you’re exhausted. From having bounced from your parents place to a couple of friends’ apartments, you’re ready to drop and sleep. You dump your gift bags on your coffee table and slump onto your couch. Little Bit jumps up and starts purring. 

“What’s up baby. Did you miss me?” You ask her. She chitters a little reply at you and you nod knowingly. “Okay lemme get my pajamas on and we’ll relax.”

You heave yourself up and head to your bedroom. You’ve only just gotten your pajama pants on when you hear a knock on your door. “Just a second!” You call, and tug your sweater back on. You stumble a little on the way to the door, hating to keep people waiting. “Yes?” You say as you swing it open.

Bruce Wayne looks down at your sweater and wrinkles his nose. “Where did you get that?”

You look down and bark out a laugh. It’s a gold Christmas sweater with Booster Gold’s signature goggles embroidered on the front. “I bought it from him! Like a week ago Booster Gold was at Gotham Mall, hawking these things for like, fifty dollars! I was really excited, because I love getting merch of lesser-known superheroes! He was packing up for the day, and it looked like he hadn’t sold any, so I was able to haggle him down to like, fifteen dollars and a smoothie from the nearby Orange Julius! I was so lucky he had one in my size! Isn’t it great?”

You gesture to the design. “His signature is even on the tag! It’s probably gonna come out in the wash, but I don’t care! It’s really neat, right?”

Bruce has to physically stop his fist from tightening around the present in his hand. His response sounds like it pains him to say, but you’re too enthralled by your sweater. “Yes.”

“Anyway what’d you come over for? We don’t have plans until tomorrow, right? Or did I fuck up and say today. Oh god you didn’t have plans, did you? D-”

“It was fine. It was a pretty slow night at the Manor. Damian doesn’t really do Christmas, so we wrapped stuff up pretty early, and I decided to come over. Besides, I already sent out the presents for my other sons.”  _Who are on patrol for me right now._  “I got this for you.” He hands you a beautifully wrapped gray package, on the medium-heavy side. “I noticed you’ve needed a new one for a while, so I went to Wayne Electronics and had them make this for you.”

“No- you _didn’t_. Are you fucking kidding?” You’re stammering as you rip the wrapping paper. Sure enough, it’s a brand new, top of the line laptop, with the Wayne Enterprises logo on the outside cover. “Bruce! Oh my god! I can finally play those games piled up on my old one! And I can watch movies! And- and-” You look up at him, eyes wide. “I can’t take this. It makes my present look like  **shit**.”

He laughs, genuinely laughs, then says your name softly. “I’m sure whatever you got me is perfectly fine.”

You grumble a little before putting the laptop box down and heading to your bedroom. “Alright but if you don’t like it don’t tell me. Giving people good gifts is like, one of the only things I have in life. Don’t take this from me.”

You come back a couple of minutes later with a blue gift bag with sparkly tissue paper poking out. “Alright so the first one I’m not sure if you’ve heard of but the second I’m sure you have and I’m sorry but I don’t have the money to buy you like, seven thousand dollar first edition or whatever.”

You hand him the bag and immediately start worrying your lip between your teeth and playing with your nails. He sits down at your table and gingerly takes the paper out, and takes out the first book. 

“That one’s really good! I read it in middle school, I think, and it’s about a kid who’s the clone of this like, drug lord or whatever, who’s basically just raised for parts, and-”

“Do you want me to actually read the book or do you want to give me a plot summary?” Bruce asks, not even looking up. You roll your eyes and wait for him to take the second one out. “The Brothers Karamazov? Didn’t take you as the classic literature type.”

You puff your cheeks out. “Yea well. I’m very multifaceted, I’ll have you know. I’m not just jokes and social anxiety, thank you very much.” You grimace. “But if you don’t like any of it I can take it back, but honestly the money wouldn’t even be any good to you, so I-”

He gets up and takes your face in his hands. His gloves are cold, but not overtly so. “I love them. I had actually just recently lost my copy of  _Karamazov_ anyway, so I needed a new one. I’m truly grateful you got me a thoughtful gift. Thank you.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and brings his arms around you, rubbing your back. 

“Ugh. Fine. You're welcome,” You mumble into his coat. You look up and give him a kiss on the chin. “Never ask or do anything for me again I hated this.”

He laughs again, short and unexpected. “Merry Christmas.”

* * *

“Hey Batman! Batman wait! Batman!” Bruce’s eye twitches under the mask as Booster Gold calls out to him. Booster catches up to him and clasps a hand over his shoulder. “We’re sparring today, right? I just wanna ask you to go a little easy on the money-maker. I met this total hottie two weeks ago at the mall, and I think they were diggin’ me! They bought one of the sweaters and everything! I think today I’m gonna go by there again and hang out in the food court, see if I can find ‘em again.” Booster starts talking to himself, hand on his chin. “Maybe they’ll be wearing my sweater…maybe I can fuc-”

Bruce clenches a fist and swiftly turns and nails Booster Gold in the stomach, making him go sprawling onto the floor. “We’re done here.”

Booster smiles and wheezes from his position on the floor.. “Same time next week then, Batman?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen i posted this on my tumblr ON CHRISTMAS EVE so its only late HERE okay it's fine.


	8. Direction

You’re at the Manor, after a spectacular dinner at some place who’s name you can’t pronounce, rifling around in Bruce’s kitchen for something to drink. “How is it that you don’t have any juice here? You’re a whole ass millionaire, and you don’t even have any _juice_.”

He laughs, a deep, quiet sound. You walk over to his pantry and throw open the doors, scanning the shelves. They’re full of name brand, expensive chips and granolas, a whole shelf dedicated to different types of pastas. It throws you off, the contrast between your own pantry and his. “If you really want, we can go out to the grocery store or something, pick up some juice. Or, even, we can just make some juice here. Alfred makes sure we’re fully stocked on fruits and vegetables.”

You’re about to make a faux dramatic scene, when in walks the youngest Wayne. He’s looking down at his phone, tapping away as he says “Father I am going to Kent’s house tonight, as- oh, you are here again.”

You immediately straighten up and lean against the counter. “Hey, Damian. Sorry.”

He sneers at you. “Father, why do you insist on this-”

“That’s enough. Is Clark coming to pick you up himself or do you need Alfred to take you?” Bruce asks, giving Damian a pointed look over your shoulder that you don’t see, warning the youngest Wayne. 

They stare at each other for a couple of seconds before Damian gives in and turns away. “Drake will be taking me. He owes me a favor.”

“Good.” Bruce nods, and that’s the end of the conversation, as far as you can tell. The boy walks out, and Bruce returns his attentions back to you. He corners you in the pantry, sliding the door shut behind him. “I don’t think you checked that corner over there.”

You, stupidly, take his comment at face value, and turn away, trying to crane your neck. “Where? I swear to god, I’ve checked this entire pantry, unless you have a secret sub-pantry, in which case, I-” 

You turn back around to lecture him, but he captures your lips. You eyes widen for just a second before leaning into it. He cages you in, one hand splayed against the wall, the other gripping a shelf. He kisses you deeper, running his tongue over your teeth. You twist a hand into his navy sweater and open your mouth. You’d be content to do this forever, just make out with Bruce Wayne in his ridiculous kitchen. It isn’t until a hand starts wandering lower, fingertips just about to dip beneath your pants, that you come back to yourself and jolt away. 

“I, uh, we shouldn’t. Your kids might walk in.” He keeps one hand on the wall, but lets the other fall to his side, giving you the chance to escape. You do gratefully, sliding out of the pantry with a shuddering sigh. 

“None of them are home, you know. Damian left, and Tim is driving Damian, probably going to hit up a coffee shop before coming home. We have all the time in the world,” Bruce says, following you out. He doesn’t sound angry, and that’s part of what gets you more upset. “But, if you don’t want to do anything, that’s fine. I can even take you home right now, if you want.”

You groan. “That’s not it! I just- I’m just…” You’re having trouble articulating, and you hate it. Bruce leans against the fridge and fixes you with a stare. You take a deep breath and look at the marble counter top. “I am…a baby, who is afraid of intimacy. And yea, I understand ‘beauty is on the inside’ or whatever dumb shit, and you know what I  _look_  like, over all, but like. I’m not a model, or some super sexy massage therapist from the Alps, or even that really hot guy who works at the Chipotle on Seventh Street.I’m having trouble believing that you _want_  me. I’m just a weird concierge that saw you sneak out one night, and somehow that lead to us dating and I’m afraid that once you fuck me you’ll leave.”

He doesn’t even wait before responding. Damn him. “That’s fine. Just because you’re not my usual bed partner, doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with you and kick you to the curb. I’m not going to delete your number and change my address. If things go south after we sleep together, that’s one thing. But I’m not going to put five months into a one night stand. It’s nonsensical. It’d be a waste of my time. I hate wasting my own time.”

You start laughing. “This is  _dumb_. I’m sorry.”

You walk over to him and kiss him. “For the record, I do find you very attractive. I’d definitely jump at the chance to fuck you. I’m just gonna be weird about it for a hot minute.”

“Fair enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they WILL fuck...........they WILL.........SOON


	9. Feel it

“You know, I heard on the news that you’re going on vacation. Where ya goin?” You ask, unwrapping a candy and popping it in your mouth. Your apartment is full of all kinds of candy, having camped out at a Target a couple of bus stops away from your house and immediately raiding their discount Valentine’s candy when they opened. 

“You heard on the news?” Bruce asks, eyebrow raised, eyeing the bags splayed all over your coffee table. “Have you eaten anything of substance today?”

You give him a look. “I’m an adult. I had some waffles for breakfast. And yes, the news.” He gives you a hard stare, and you relent. “Alright I was at the doctor’s office the other day and they had one of those celebrity talk shows on.”

“That’s what I thought. I’m going to France for a week to discuss a partnership for Wayne Industries. Why, are you going to miss me?” He teases. You’re able to tell the difference between joking and not now, surprisingly. 

“No! I was very much a half-functioning person before you, I’ll manage without you,” You say, unwrapping another candy. You go to toss it in your mouth, when a hand catches yours. Bruce looks you straight in the eyes as he brings the hand to his mouth and gently takes the Kiss from between your fingers, wrapping his tongue around it. The feeling of his tongue just _brushing_ against your fingers sent electricity down your spine. You pull your hand away and let out a small shout, trying to hide the heat you feel on your face. “Gross! What are you, twelve?”

He just just lets out a laugh, a barely concealed smile on his face. “I take after my son.”

“No you don’t! I’ve met the kid like, what, three times now? He would  _never_  do that. He’s very sanitary,” You say matter-of-factly. 

He just laughs again, a sound you’ve come to love, and grabs your hand, hauling you up. “Come on, we’re going to the Manor.”

“I’m in my pajamas!” You try to tug your hand away, use your weight against him, but he doesn’t budge. He’s very strong for a billionaire.

“Doesn’t matter. You need to eat real food, and Alfred would to love see you again. He’s all stocked up on juice.” Your eyes widen and you tug harder against him. 

“No! He’ll just lecture me on my bad eating habits again! No! He’s gonna give me that look and I’ll feel all bad, and then I’ll go out and buy health food I’ll never eat! Bruce, please!” He shakes his head resolutely, grabbing your keys and phone for you. You sigh and groan. 

“Fine, but we’re playing my music in the car!”

* * *

 

Gotham is pretty quiet tonight, Tim decides. There’s been no big goings-on since Bruce left, doing some League business across the Atlantic. He’s about to just call it a night, let Damian patrol for the rest it, when he hears a scuffle in the alley below him. He peeks over the side and sees a man holding a knife to the throat of someone. Tim sighs and gets ready to swing down to stop the mugging, when the person being mugged speaks. 

“Come on man, I don’t have any money. I just went to the corner store for this ice cream. Look, here’s the receipt,” You say, reaching into your pocket. The man pushes you harder against the brick wall, stopping you. Tim freezes, hearing your voice. The two of you have never met officially, but he’s done enough recon work on your background to know it’s you. 

“No funny business!” The man snaps. He removes the knife from your throat, and you almost sigh with relief, before he starts trying to frisk you. “C’mon, I know you got a wallet on you, no one leaves the house without money…”

You’re terrified. In the same split second that Tim jumps down into the alley, you try to push the attacker away, only for the man to push the knife into your stomach. “Hey!” Red Robin calls out. The mugger looks up, curses, and runs out of the alley and down the street. “Shit.”

You’re dying. At least, that’s how it feels in your brain. Physically? You feel fine.  _Must be the adrenaline_ , you think dryly. You look to your right and see Red Robin standing there. “I don’t think you experience hallucinations after you get stabbed, but if this is one, it’s a pretty cool one.”

His mouth quirks up in an almost-smile, then he presses the comm link in his ear. “I need an ambulance to third alleyway on Sycamore Street,  _now_. And I need N.”

“Sh-shouldn’t you be going after th-the guy? I’ll be fine. This is fine. Ha, that one’s a meme,” You say, sliding down the brick wall. 

Tim goes to catch you before you crack your skull on the wall or the pavement. It takes a minute, but Nightwing is there. “What’s the situat- oh, what the hell!” Dick exclaims, kneeling down beside you. 

“A mugging gone wrong. As you heard, I’ve got an ambulance coming for them,” Red Robin says. He’s taken a random cloth out of his belt and is pressing it to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. 

“Oh hell y-yea, Nightwing is here! W-who’s next? Robin? Could we get Batwoman? I’ve always thought she was super hot. Do you g-guys have her number? Can you give mine to her?” You’re rambling, you know, but you can’t feel anything, and it’s scaring you. You feel wet, somewhere, but you can’t place where. “Oh w-wait, I can’t. I think I’m dating Bruce Wayne. I think? I dunno, I can never tell what I’m doin’ with that guy.”

The two brothers scoff in front of you. They know the feeling. “So what’d you call me here for, if you’re just waiting for an ambulance?” Dick asks. 

Tim looks between the two of you and leans away from your head, ushering Dick over. “Someone’s gotta be there when they wake up in the hospital. It’s obviously not gonna be  _me_ , they don’t know civilian me, Bruce isn’t here, and if I even mention their name to Damian, he sneers. We can’t let them wake up alone!” Tim whispers. Dick looks back and forth between the two of you. 

“Ugh! Fine! But as soon as he gets back, _you’re_ telling him.”

Tim frowns. “Damn, fine!”

He hears the sound of sirens in the distance and breathes a sigh of relief. Just as the paramedics roll up, you sit upright and gasp, scrambling for the grocery bag you dropped. “My ice cream! Red Robin, save my ice cream! There’s a spare key on my fire escape! Here!” You shove it into his hands as the paramedics pick you up.

* * *

Bruce has been back for a week and a half now, and it’s been radio silence from you. He finds that odd, because you usually frequently text him weird things, like pictures of your cats, or some obscure food truck/stand you’re at, making fun of him (you’d once sent him a photo of a hot dog, asking him “Master Bruce, how do you eat a hot dog in a fancy way?”). That, and you had made him promise to get you a souvenir. He’d be damned if Diana’s help was for nothing. It takes a couple of hard stares and a threat of patrolling with Damian, but finally Time tells him everything. Dick confirms that you made it to the hospital, and that he was there when you woke up. 

He knocks on the door to your apartment, impatient. Not that you would know. It takes a couple of minutes for you to make it to the door, but when you do, and see Bruce standing on the other side, you swallow. Hard. You really hadn’t wanted to see him so soon. You suck in a deep breath, then swing open the door. “Hey! How was France!” 

There’s pain behind your eyes, he can tell. You flinch when he raises his arm, just to go to his coat pocket. “It went well. I got this for you.” He tosses you a small box, about the size of your palm, flat. You catch the box, but not without wincing. You hope he doesn’t notice, but of course he does. You open the box gingerly, afraid it might crumble in your hands. Inside is a pair of earrings, one of Booster Gold’s goggles, the other of the Blue Beetle insignia, small jewels embedded in them.

“Oh my god! This is so stupid! I love it!” You look up at him, “Where did you find these? They’re not real jewels, are they?”

“I found them at a small farmer’s market in a village just outside of Versailles. No, the jewels aren’t real. If you look under the pillow for the earrings, there’s a Martian Manhunter bracelet.” Bruce looks pleased with himself. You hug him, then make a sound of pain, and step back. His eyes narrow. He knows what’s wrong, but you have to be the one to tell him. He reaches for you and you flinch again. “What’s wrong.”

“N-nothing! I just accidentally ran into my dresser this morning, bumped something.”

“I know we’ve been working on your skills, but we haven’t quite gotten to lying yet.” You make a face as he leads you to your couch. Your cats get up with a look of disgruntlement. He cups your face. The words need to come from you. “What happened.”

A tear starts to make it’s way down your cheek. “I don’t wanna tell you, it’s stupid. I’m stupid.”

“Insulting yourself isn’t doing you any favors. What. Happened.” He won’t ask a fourth time, you both know. 

You suck in a breath and let it go slow. “I, uh. I got mugged, like, two weeks ago. B-but it was  _stupid_ , because I didn’t even have any money, and I told the guy that, but he didn’t  _care_ , and then Red Robin showed up, an-a-and-” He brings you into a hug, kissing the top of your head, murmuring comfort to you. “I woke up in the hospital, and Dick was there, said he had heard what happened from a couple of guys at the station, and decided to come see me. I told him not to tell you, because I thought the whole thing was _dumb_ , and I haven’t left my apartment past four o’clock since it happened, and I’m too scared to go out anymore and I’m thankful I’m on a medical leave from work because otherwise I would lose my job, and I can’t afford that, but I’m just so  _scared_ , so-”

“Shh. It’s okay. You survived, and that’s what’s important. That vigilante was there, and he helped you, right? You’re okay,” Bruce mutters, pressing kisses around your face. He takes one look at you, and makes up his mind. “Do you trust me?”

“Y-yes?” You say it like a question. “Yes, I trust you.”

“Good. Relax, let me take the edge off for you, okay? You need a release.” He starts pressing kisses down the side of your neck, trailing further down. You start to balk a little when his knees go to your floor, kneeling in front of you. “It’s alright, I’m here now, I’ve got you.”

His fingers hook into your pants and underwear, dragging them down slowly. He scratches lightly at your thighs, appreciating them. You’ve got faint punctures and scratches from your cats, but nothing major. Bruce rubs his thumbs across the tops of your thighs. “Are you still okay, you want to do this?”

“Y-yes,” You say shakily. For some reason, even after all of your anxiety about this exact thing, getting intimate with Bruce could-legally-change-his-middle-name-to-Fucking Wayne, you’re okay. You kind of don’t mind that this will be your first time with him. He spreads your legs a little, spreading your lips with the same thumbs trying to soothe you just seconds earlier. 

When his tongue touches you for the first time, you jolt. You can’t really twist away, considering your stitches are till healing. He eats you out slowly, as if he’s savoring your taste (which you definitely would have said something about if you were more in the moment), with his fingertips just lightly brushes around your pussy. When he finally inserts a finger into you, you keen a little bit, getting into it. He focuses the most on your clit, sucking on it, rolling it around with his tongue, making sure not a bit of it is left alone. Your left hand goes to his hair, not caring if you’re gotten product on it, just needing to grip some part of him to stay anchored. 

He brings you to a strong, slow climax, with two fingers massaging upwards and his mouth wrapped around your clit. You let out a small noise when you cum, bending yourself almost in half over him. He works you through the aftershocks (if you can even call them that. You feel like you could just keep it going, just cum until he pulls his fingers away), then presses a kiss to your thigh before pulling your pants back up and moving your body slightly, so he can sit behind you on the couch. You slump against him, a feeling of satisfaction washing over you. 

“Are you relaxed now? Have your anxieties subsided?” Bruce asks, smoothing a hand over your cheek. 

You let out a deep sigh, “Yes. Thank you, Bruce.”

The two of you sit there for a good couple of minutes, just basking in the moment, before you tap his leg. “Would you mind going to my freezer and grabbing the ice cream in there? It’s the ice cream I pretty much got stabbed for, and Red Robin put it in there for me.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo tell me whatcha ya think, whatcha really really think


	10. Impulse

“So like, is this the point in the relationship where he kills me, because as a billionaire he can’t feel human emotions anymore, and the only thrill he gets is from killing?” You ask Alfred from the backseat of the Lexus you’re sitting in.

Alfred lets out a laugh, which you count as a win. “I have forgotten how funny you are. It’s been a while since I have laughed this hard.”

Your eyes widen and you look down, surprised that _that’s_  Alfred laughing hard. “Anyway, where are we going? He asked me to take the night off of work? Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine,” He reassures you. “Master Bruce would just like to have you over for dinner, is all.”

His eyes flick to yours in the rear view mirror, and you fix him with a look. “You know he’s been teaching me how to spot a lie, right? What is it? What’s tonight?”

“I underestimated you, it seems. If you must know, tomorrow is Master Bruce’s birthday. He does not like to divulge this information, instead preferring to keep it to himself, but as he will be indisposed tomorrow, he would like to see you tonight,” Alfred tells you, making the turn onto the Manor’s long driveway. 

“What the fuck! He didn’t tell me! Of course, I know what you just said and all but like still! What the fuck! I didn’t even get him anything! What am I supposed to get the man who could buy his way into heaven? Christ alive, I feel bad now.” You had jolted up at your first exclamation, but now you’ve shrunken back into your seat, looking out the window moodily. 

“If I could just say something?” Alfred asks, eyeing you once again from the mirror. 

“I mean, I guess. I can’t really stop you from talking. Free will and all that.”

“I believe your mere presence will be present enough for him. He doesn’t quite need material things, as you know. Master Bruce has had many partners over the years, but none quite like you. You make him…lighter, I suppose you could say. He’s not as worried, or serious, when talking or thinking about you. It is a nice change.” Alfred stops at the door to the Manor, and gets out. He frowns when you open the door and get out before he can round the car, to get the door for you. 

You walk into the Manor and make a face. The place is empty from the looks of it. “Shouldn’t there be like…kids runnin’ around or whatever?”

“They have all made plans for the night, respecting Master Bruce’s wishes to be alone on his birthday.” Alfred moves past you, towards the kitchen. “The dining room is down the hall and to the left, dinner will be ready shortly.”

You’re a little unnerved by that answer, but leave it be. You walk down the hall, looking at all the portraits and vases. There’s a huge grandfather clock in the dining room, which shows it to be twenty ‘til. Alfred’s already set two places at the table, one at the head, one right beside it. You raise an eyebrow and scrunch your face up. You don’t like that. You move the settings down to the middle of the table, right beside each other. You sit down at one, just in time for Bruce and Alfred to come walking in. 

“Alfred, I don’t have time for dinner, I need to g-” He cuts himself off as he sees you sitting there, a sheepish look on your face. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh! Well, uh, Alfred told me your birthday was tomorrow? So happy early birthday, for one, and he said you wanted to eat dinner together? And you know I never really have anything going on, so…” You trail off and purse your lips. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I see. Well, I’m not going to send you home hungry, I suppose.”

“I could leave, if you really want! I’ve got some like, bagel bites at home, and some Funyuns, if you’ve got like, places to be.” You start to push your chair out from under the table, when Alfred interrupts you.

“I’ve already made the meal, the two of your might as well enjoy it,” He says, fixing Bruce with a look. The man himself lets out a heavy sigh, then finally nods. “Dinner will be served shortly.”

Bruce sits beside you, then looks down at the place settings. “This isn’t normally how Alfred sets the table.”

“I saw. I, uh, moved them, ‘cause I didn’t like it. Besides, is it _that_ bad if I wanna sit beside you?”

He just shrugs as Alfred brings in the first course. Dinner is nice. You crack the usual jokes, Bruce talks about socialite stuff, Wayne business. You have a feeling there’s something he’d rather be doing, but push it to the side. After dinner, he gives you a tour of the Mansion, which ends with his bedroom. 

“I promise you, there’s nothing exciting in there, just my bed, dresser, and bathroom,” He says, opening the door for you to see. “And the walk-in closet, but I think you’ve had enough of walk-ins, huh?”

You whack him on the arm as you walk in  and sit on his bed. He watches you lay back and spread your arms out. “Shut up! Just because I’ve kissed you in your pantry, doesn’t mean I’m gonna be horny for you in every enclosed space we’re in together.” He laughs and joins you on the bed, sitting just an inch or two away. You heave yourself up with a grunt, then look at him. You look him up and down for a second before speaking again. “I’m sorry I don’t like. Have anything to give you for your birthday. But…”

You lean forward and kiss him. He doesn’t jolt, doesn’t seem surprised, just kisses you back. You position yourself above him, and try to deepen the kiss, swiping your tongue across his lips. They’re soft, you note, pleased. You’re not under any illusions as to who’s really in control here, but you appreciate that he’s letting you explore. You’re hesitant to start grinding down on him. “You sure this is okay? These are some really nice sweatpants, I don’t wanna ruin ‘em,” You say against his lips. 

He lets out a quiet laugh. “Trust me, they can be washed. Give me all you got.”

You shrug and continue grinding on him. His hand goes to your hip, guiding you, the other snaking up the back of your shirt, and he smiles, genuinely smiles, at your lack of a bra, and moves his hand to your front, palming a breast. You trail a hand down his chest and push him slightly away. “Here, lemme just…” You whip off your shirt, and he does the same, tossing his long-sleeved shirt off to the side. You resume grinding on him, a little self conscious at being topless, but excited seeing Bruce Wayne shirtless for the first time. It’s different in a private setting, knowing you’re the only one seeing this view. 

You start to trail kisses down his neck, but think better of biting or sucking on him. You’re not seventeen, and he’s a grown man, with board meetings and  parties to attend. His fingers start to skirt around the top of your jeans, and he fixes you with a look. You nod, and his fingers slip in, past your underwear. He groans a little at how wet you seem to be already, enough so that his fingers dip into your pussy, wetting them, then rubs your clit. You keen in his lap, sucking on one of his nipples in retaliation, sucking marks around the both of them and across his chest.  _Hopefully he won’t be doing any swimsuit catalogs any time soon_ , you think. 

His thumb takes over rubbing your clit, his fingers curling back up into you. You start panting, then pull his sweatpants down, freeing his dick. While isn’t fully hard yet, your hand wrapping around it is sure to help that. You stroke him quickly, flicking your wrist right up at the head, and he pushes you over the edge just as he finds your g-spot. You cry out quietly, accidentally gripping his dick tightly. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, just hisses at the feeling as you slump against him, still trying to weakly give him a handjob. He gently pries your hand away, and lifts you off of him.  _God, why’s he gotta be so fuckin’ strong_ , you think.

He peels your pants down, taking them off completely for you. Thankfully you’’d had a mind to take your shoes off at the door of his bedroom. Bruce goes to get a condom, but you wave him off. “’S fine, I’m on the pill.”

He huffs a laugh. “Alright then.”

He rubs his dick through your wetness a couple times before pushing you, You both groan at the feeling, and you bring one hand down to your clit, rubbing slowly. Bruce wastes no time drilling into you, letting out small grunts every time you tighten around him. You hook a leg around his waist, and he responds accordingly, keeping his thrusts short and deep. “Fuck, Bruce, c’mon.”

“Your wish is my command,” He says with a cocky smile. “Rub your clit faster, I’m getting close too.”

You arch your back and do as he says. After a couple of well-timed thrusts, you cum again, pulling him down with you. He lets out a moan, a real moan, as he cums, filling you up. He’s silent, hanging above you for a beat, before pulling out and laying off to your side. You’re quiet for a couple of beats, feeling his cum start to come out of you, then open your mouth. “I…”

You don’t feel it, but Bruce tenses beside you. He’s afraid of your next words, it’s been so nice dating you, he doesn’t want to have to break up with you over three little words, he ca-

“Have to pee. Get off my arm.” You struggle to get up as his full body weight presses down on you. He laughs, a deep, full-body laugh, then rolls over, obliging. 

Looks like things are still okay for the moment.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO i felt a lil iffy abt this one bc it got really choppy at the end so i had to re-do it like three times and i kept getting stuck. BUT i did it and they fucked and i'm FINE

**Author's Note:**

> this is directly from my tumblr!! supeson.tumblr.com!! if you head on over there feel free to make a request!!


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